


Our Blood Is Gold

by akingdomofunicorns



Series: All These Great Houses [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingdomofunicorns/pseuds/akingdomofunicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're all Lannisters, them with their golden hair and green eyes and clever tongues. It is time the rest of the world kneels before them, it is time they remember why they feared them in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is our kingdom and we won't let it burn (Tywin)

Weakness is not an option, not for a Lannister. He has worked hard for this, he has worked hard all his life; performing his duty and forgetting his honour when it was necessary, teaching his children what to do and how to think, bending them to his will to make them wiser and stronger, true Lannisters like himself. A Queen and a knight. It’s all he’s ever asked for and yet they both have failed him.

Jaime’s as good as lost to him forever and Cersei has lost the little power she held over her son, and the kids are useless to him, nothing more than small pieces for him to play with in order to win this whole game, not only the first hand. As long as Jaime is a prisoner to the Stark boy and he is far away from King’s Landing fighting this foolish war that his golden twins have brought upon themselves and the whole kingdom, he’ll have to trust the only remaining tool he has with a bit of common sense in him. As long as he remains in the battlefield slaying northerners and risking his life for the kingdom he has built with his own blood and his own sweat, he will need someone to hold it together.

He’s not about to let it crumble down and become ashes; he’ll send Tyrion to the Capital to control Cersei and that vile son of hers until he can return.

It’s his kingdom, the era of the lions, and it will remain as such. For Joanna. 


	2. Gold shines under the sun and the sun warms us tonight (Joanna)

Joanna’s hair shines golden under the sun, bright like the light that filters through the clouds. She looks like the Maiden and the Mother in the same image, her cheeks pink and her belly swollen with the new babe. Cersei sleeps beside her in the grass and Jaime is running around somewhere with his wooden sword, though he’s begged Tywin hundreds of times for a real sword, sharp steel to slay dragons and protect princesses from evil and wicked witches.

Joanna wonders, though, in the midst of the beautiful morning, she wonders whether this will last —this frail moment of peace that surrounds her family, where Tywin is home and the children play innocently. They’re so rare and the few they have are like a breath of fresh air; and sometimes she feels she’s choking, as if the Gods have their hands around her throat and they’re trying to kill her. She’s so scared, sometimes, scared that Tywin will not return to her ever again, that he’ll remain at Aerys’ side forever and will forget about her completely; scared that Cersei and Jaime will become wicked and foul, that they will sin and the Gods will punish them and their House greatly; scared that something will go wrong with her pregnancy and the babe will suffer and that would break her on so many levels she cannot even begin to imagine what it would feel like.

Cersei snores gently beside her and her beautiful girl has drool on her chin, yet she’s still lovely. She smiles when she sees Tywin walking over to them, Jaime at his side, looking up to his father and smiling so bright the sun pales in comparison.

She’s still scared, but it’s warm under the sun and their skins taste of salt and spring and as long as she fights, they’ll stay together. And she’ll never tire of fighting for her family.


	3. Love has made you strong and weak (Cersei)

She does love Jaime, with all her heart. How can she not, when they share a soul and a mind and a heart? They’re the same person, ment to be one perfect human being, yet the Gods decided to break them down and separate them into two bodies.

She doesn’t understand them, their ways are strange and their actions cruel, ruthless, brutal. She doesn’t understand them and she doesn’t want to, yet she wonders, sometimes, if it isn’t for the best. They belong to each other, like pieces of armour that go together. A sword and a shield, ready to take over the world together, united.

How awful it feels then, when word comes to King’s Landing that Jaime’s been captured by Eddard Stark’s boy. A fifteen year old boy has captured her twin brother, her other half, the extension of her own body. It kills her inside, really —it crawls at her skin like a dozen snails, making her feel sick.

She lies with Lancel thrice in the same night and she tries not to cry her brother’s name when she peaks, clawing at the boy’s back and sinking her teeth on his flesh. She feels weak and vulnerable, frail. She’s losing. But then she thinks of Joffrey’s eyes, fierce and beautiful, of Myrcella’s golden hair, so like her own, of Tommen’s sweet smile and full cheeks and she feels strong again.

She feels safe. Invincible.


	4. Love has made you blind (Jaime)

He doesn’t think very much about it because it makes him feel sick, but in the middle of the night it’s something hard to avoid. He feels guilty, he knows —not guilty for loving Cersei, never that, but guilty about letting her control him like that, guilty of being blind all along. And, most of all, he feels guilty for pushing that boy out of the window.

The thing he regrets the most about Bran Stark is having pushed him in the name of this twisted version of love. He has loved Cersei all his life, he has been devoted to her in every aspect; he had given her his soul, damned as it was, and had knelt before her and begged for her love, for her kisses, for her sweet embrace and her lovely smiles. They had loved each other to the point of madness, he thought, though he’s not sure anymore.

Now he just feels used and broken, empty and weak. He is nothing, he is no one. There’s no place for him anymore, no place where he can go and feel safe. And Bran Stark’s face keeps coming back to him every night, how he had looked right before he had been pushed, when Jaime’s hand had landed on his chest. He had sacrificed the boy without a second thought to safe Cersei, only Cersei —he hadn’t really thought of the children until later, much later, when he was trying to justify his actions. And that is what hurts more: how it had all been for Cersei, his perfect, beautiful, ruthless sister and lover, now just a shadow of what she used to be. It had always been Cersei, even when she didn’t deserve it. He should have thought of Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen, but they had never been his, not truly, not until it was too late. And he had never minded as long as Cersei was with him. But she isn’t now.

Yet he still loves her. She’s like an addiction, and he knows he will never be able to get rid of her.  


	5. My heart had turned to stone, but it’s melting (Tyrion)

He likes to tell himself that he’s strong, stronger than they give him credit for. He’s still alive, is he not? But the truth is he hides his weakness under piles of sarcasm and layers of indifference. He learned long ago that love wasn’t for him, that it didn’t matter how much he yearned for it, it would not come to him; not willingly, at least. He doesn’t mind much, he thinks, Jaime’s acceptance and the smiles his whores gift him with when they see him coming are enough, he’d like to believe.

He thought it rather disgusting, in fact, when he saw it written in Lord Stark’s eyes as he looked at his wife or when Lady Stark hugged her husband when she thought no one was looking. He thought it sickening, the way they had kissed in the dim light of the corridors of Winterfell, giggling like children at their mischief. He likes sweet things, of course (bread with honey or iced honey milk, cold wine on hot summer days, strawberries with cream and kissing a pretty girl between the thighs), but love looks too sweet; he remembers how it had been perfect (she had soft eyes and a sweet smile that said “I love you” every night), how it had felt wonderful, and how much it had hurt when they had taken her away from him. Love looks beautiful at the beginning, but it’s very painful at the end.

He remains strong, even when the world tries to bring him down, and he gives up on love (he’ll never love anyone as he loved her, he thinks, so there’s no use in indulging himself —he pretends that sometimes he doesn’t long for one of his whores, Jeyne, Cassia, Ryna, he doesn’t care, saying the dreaded words). He goes on.

It’s not until he returns to King’s Landing to serve as Hand on his father’s stead that he feels something breaking inside him. There’s a crack in the imaginary armour he wears, something so little that shouldn’t cause him worry, yet it is looking at Sansa Stark’s blue eyes as she walks away, the Hound’s cloak covering her, that he feels afraid.

It’s been too long since the last time, he is not yet prepared to be broken again. 


	6. My sister’s blood is sweet (Joffrey)

She looks very much like him: her cheekbones might be higher and her lips thinner, but she’s still very much like him. They have the same golden hair, though hers is long and curly, and a bit wild too; the same green eyes, she has thicker and darker eyelashes that curl beautifully; the same creamy skin that tastes of grass and flesh, but hers is full of tiny freckles in the summer, a dull orange against her fair skin; the same curiosity about things, though hers is sweeter, kinder, more subdued, less inclined towards violence as she prefers brushes and paint, needles and books.

They’re very much alike, his sister and him, and very much like their own mother, as she has carried them in her womb. But Myrcella’s blood is sweeter than his, and brighter too. Myrcella’s blood is his favourite. He loves to let it run down her legs, her arms and her back, sometimes even down her throat and he relishes the days she has to wear high necks and multiple scarves so no one else discovers her wounds.

She looks so very pretty when she cries silently, trembling underneath his fingers, naked and scared. He likes specially the way she says his name, in a murmur, pleading for him to stop because he’s the one in power. “Joffrey, please…” But she never says anything else, only “Joffrey, please…” and he does not stop until he is satisfied, until her hips and her thighs are blue from his pinching and he’s licked every single one of her ribs.

Later he cradles her in his arms, gentle hands caressing her stomach and her neck, soft fingers brushing against her cheeks and the inner side of her thighs, and he makes her say “I love you”, because he likes hearing it from her lips. She’s a lovely little girl, his sister.

And she is so very like him.


	7. My mouth has been sewed (Myrcella)

She’s a smart girl, she knows. Oh, of course she can play her part as the silly and golden princess everyone ignores, just a little girl who’s not as perfect as her older brother and neither is she as valuable as Tommen; but she dresses in pinks and oranges and yellows, innocent colours to make people forget who she really is, just how dangerous both her blood and her smiles are, how cunning her words can be.

When they ship her off to Dorne, she does not shed a single tear. As much as she loves her family (and she does, she loves all of them: Grandfather Tywin, Mother and Father, Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion and Joff and Tomm, specially her sweet Tomm, how she’s gonna miss him, once she’s gone), she knows how foolish some of them can be (all of them,really; all of them but Grandfather, who’s cold and smart and ruthless and everything a lion should be) and how much their sins may cost them. And, as much as she praises herself on being a Baratheon, there is gold in her blood too, gold as yellow as the sun, as sweet as her hair and as soft as her skin; she’s as much of a Lannister as Grandfather, that she is. Because there is fury and wrath in her, Baratheon anger at the ones who’ve wronged her family, and there’s a lioness in her soul, a roar at the back of her throat and claws that tremble from her thirst.

And Dorne is beautiful and warm and _freedom_ , a freedom she longs for with every bit of her heart, but family always comes first; it is family before power and lust and greed, and if power is what it takes to keep her family from falling apart, than she’ll have to play the game as best as she can. She’s a princess, they’ve taught her how it is done (not on purpose, of course, but she sees things, she observes and keeps quiet as she hides in corners and pretends to be somewhere else) and she will get things done. That’s what she’s done all her life, isn’t it? That’s what she’ll keep doing for the rest of her days.

She’ll fight until her bones turn to wind and dust and she’ll keep quiet —no one is to know about the horrors that haunt her family, no one is to find out just how twisted they all are. 


	8. Hate will kill me from the inside (Tommen)

Mother loves him dearly, she does. He knows because she kisses him goodnight and tells him to be brave, like Joff. Cella loves him best, though, because she never compares him to Joffrey and she lets him sleep in her bed when there’s thunder. She’s a sweet sister, a lovely sister, and she looks very much like Mother and himself. Her cheeks are as full as his own and her lips as pink and red, and her hair is thick and curly and it falls over her shoulders in a mass of gold and sunlight. She’s soft and creamy, her skin freckled and her eyes sharp and she’s much smarter than him.

He cries when she goes away, he cries until the moon is high on the sky and his head hurts terribly. Myrcella was his only friend, for Sansa doesn’t like him very much, and now he’s all alone. It weights heavy on his shoulders, it chokes him and it scares him, how she’s far away from home and how she was not scared at all to leave and never return. He hates Joffrey for sending her away, for hurting him so —Joffrey who had danced with Cella once, who had twirled her under the shade of a tree and had made her laugh until she had fallen to the ground, shaking and crying and happy; Joff, who had helped him hide the bed linens when he had wet himself at night so Mother wouldn’t know, claiming that it was his duty as the elder brother to protect him; Joff, who had turned vile and mean and violent, who had scratched at his back with dull nails and had pinched him until his skin had turned purple and green and blue, and then he had taken Myrcella for himself and had barred the door of his room, leaving him alone outside, while he had hurt Myrcella, sweet and beautiful and soft and golden Cella.

He hates Joff because he is evil and Tommen was fashioned for love, Myrcella said so, and he can’t stop loving him, no matter how many times he hits him or chains his wrists to the bed or threatens him with that stupid sword of his; he remembers when they used to be happy, when he used to be Joff, the boy, not Joffrey the Prince or His Grace, now that he wears the crown on his head.

And it kills him, how sour hatred tastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I get stuck in a car for seven hours. I write things. I finish things.


End file.
